A walk in the golden sunshine with Amelie alone amid the quiet
fields, free to speak his love, and she to hear him and be glad, was
a pleasure Pierre had dreamt of but never enjoyed since the blessed
night when they plighted their troth to each other by the lake of
Tilly.
The betrothal of Pierre and Amelie had been accepted by their
friends on both sides as a most fitting and desirable match, but the
manners of the age with respect to the unmarried did not admit of
that freedom in society which prevails at the present day.
They had seldom met save in the presence of others, and except for a
few chance but blissful moments, Pierre had not been favored with
the company all to himself of his betrothed.
Amelie was not unmindful of that when she gave a willing consent to-
day to walk with him along the banks of the Lairet, under the shady
elms, birches, and old thorns that overhung the path by the little
stream.
"Pierre," said she smiling, "our horses are gone and I must now walk
home with you, right or wrong. My old mistress in the Convent would
shake her head if she heard of it, but I care not who blames me to-
day, if you do not, Pierre!"
"Who can blame you, darling? What you do is ever wisest and best in
my eyes, except one thing, which I will confess now that you are my
own, I cannot account for--"
"I had hoped, Pierre, there was no exception to your admiration; you
are taking off my angel's wings already, and leaving me a mere
woman!" replied she merrily.
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